


She's Short, But It's Cute

by Cinis



Category: Wonder Woman (2017), Wonder Woman - All Media Types
Genre: Coffeeshop AU, F/F, and antiope is short, and diana has the patience of a saint to deal with her family, because antiope, hippolyta is a mother hen, meaning menalippe is the barista, menalippe is adjunct faculty, steve is above average, tbh i think 'coffeeshop au' sums it up
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-18
Updated: 2018-01-14
Packaged: 2019-02-03 19:18:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 11,665
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12754536
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cinis/pseuds/Cinis
Summary: “Antiope, stop ogling the barista,” Diana hisses. “She smiled at you when she gave you that coffee because that’s her job.”(Hippolyta and Antiope drop Diana off for college and -- surprise -- in this fic tagged "coffeeshop au," Antiope runs into a hot barista at Starbucks)Ch. 6: Steve is an above average all-American cornfield. Metaphorically.





	1. Introducing: Aunt Antiope

“ _Aunt Antiope_!”

Sitting at a wobbly Starbucks table near the back by the bathrooms, Antiope nearly jumps out of her skin. Like an owl jolted awake, she blinks several times at her niece. “Yes?”

“Stop staring at the hot barista and make her stop,” Diana pleads. She gestures to Hippolyta, also sitting with them at the tiny table.

“You have toothpaste?” Hippolyta asks. “Let us know if you need anything. _Anything_.”

“Mother,” Diana says. She tries to sound confident and comforting. Pacifying, even. It comes off as incandescently annoyed. “I’ll be fine.”

Hippolyta chews at her lower lip.  She drums her elegant fingers on the lid of her empty coffee cup. Around them, the Starbucks is quiet. Outside, night has fallen and it’s quite dark. Parents and exasperated teenagers wander about the street. She stops tapping her coffee cup and takes Diana’s hands in hers. “Please stay away from boys. And girls. And alcohol. And parties. And-”

“And life?” Antiope suggests distantly. She’s gone back to staring at the barista. Antiope thinks she must be an athlete. She has the build for it, tall, muscular, _beautiful_. She’s handling customers with a breathtaking grace. Even the obviously drunk frat boy who keeps insisting she write her number on his cup instead of his name.

“Diana,” Hippolyta says. “I love you. I love you so much. And I’m so excited for you to go to college. But we’ll miss you. And I worry.”

“I know, mother,” Diana replies. “I love you too.” She pauses and glances at her aunt. “ _Antiope, stop ogling the barista_ ,” she hisses. “She smiled at you when she gave you that coffee because that’s her _job_.”

Antiope shoves her chair back and stands.

[] [] []

“That’s very nice,” Menalippe insists. “But, as you can see, I have already written your name on this cup. That you have paid for. Take it. Please.”

Smelling thickly of booze, the customer ( _who is always right_ , Menalippe reminds herself) leans towards her over the counter. She leans away. “But would it be so hard to write your number too?” he slurs.

How old is he? He looks like a student. Is he old enough to legally consume alcohol?

Menalippe turns the cup so that his name faces him. “Yes,” she says. She forces herself to smile. She would rather be almost anywhere else, but being adjunct faculty doesn’t pay. Sometimes literally.

“Ah, look, you’re smiling,” he says. “So you want to give me your number.”

Menalippe keeps smiling. Her mouth hurts. “I don’t think so,” she says.

“You don’t think, but you want to,” the drunk pushes.

“Excuse me ma’am, is this man giving you trouble?”

Oh no. It’s another customer about to hit on her.

Still smiling painfully, Menalippe turns to the-

Oh no. The customer about to hit on her is a really hot slightly older woman. Wearing a tailored blue button down shirt with the sleeves rolled up, it’s clear she works out. She’s got her long blond hair in a tight braid and has clear blue eyes. She’s short, but it’s cute.

Menalippe blinks.

No. Wait. She remembers this customer. She came in with her wife and daughter – yet another couple dropping off their eighteen year old for school. So she’s not about to hit on Menalippe.

Well shit, that’s too bad.

“Sir, you’re holding up the line,” the really hot slightly older woman who is married says. Her tone is firm.

The drunk customer turns to her. “What line?” he says. “There’s no one here.”  
  
“Me,” the really hot woman replies. Her voice suggests a growl. She crosses her arms over her chest. Across the counter, Menalippe is intimidated. In a good way. “I’m the line. Take your coffee and go.”

The drunk customer sighs loudly. He makes a great production of running a hand through his short hair. “I’ll just come back later,” he mumbles. He takes his coffee and shuffles towards the door.

“Thank you,” Menalippe says once the customer has departed. “I could have handled that though,” she adds, firmly. It is a matter of good policy to always remind overly helpful customers that their assistance was not required. It stops them from getting ideas.

Not that Menalippe particularly expects a married lesbian with a college-age daughter to get ideas in front of her family.

“Of course,” the really hot slightly older woman says. “But you shouldn’t have to.”

Menalippe sighs. The really hot woman is not wrong. “I don’t know where my manager went,” Menalippe says.

That’s a lie. She knows exactly where her manager is. Her manager is outside. Giving himself lung cancer. As always.

The really hot woman smiles at Menalippe. It’s not a big smile, more a suggestion of a smile. It’s the slightest curl of the lips and it makes Menalippe’s knees weak. “I’m Antiope,” the really hot woman says. She slips a business card across the counter to Menalippe. “If you ever need help with rowdy customers, or anything else, let me know.”

Bewildered, Menalippe watches Antiope walk back to her wife and daughter. Not wife? Not daughter?

Menalippe sighs and shakes her head. It’ll be time to lock up soon, and then she can go home and go to sleep. She tucks the business card Antiope gave her in the back pocket of her jeans.

[] [] []

When Antiope sits back down at the table with her family, she’s grinning ear to ear.

Diana rolls her eyes. “You should have just let her manager handle it,” Diana says. “Or her. She was probably fine without you.”

Antiope tilts her head towards the window. The guy who took their orders at the register is smoking and staring up at the stars. “You mean him?” she asks. “Also, she was fine _with_ me too.”

“There’s an app now,” Diana says. “It’s called Tinder. It lets you find people who also want to hook up instead of bothering Starbucks baristas.”

Hippolyta looks scandalized.

Antiope looks sheepish.

Diana clears her throat. “You were dropping me off for college,” she says, trying to direct the conversation back onto less treacherous ground.

Hippolyta drags a hand through her perfectly arranged mane of blond hair. She sighs, clearly torn between demanding to know how it is that her daughter knows anything about ‘hooking up’ and taking the bait. She takes the bait. “You could still go to Yale,” Hippolyta says. “Or Harvard. There’s a _library_ named after our family at Harvard.” Her voice is downright plaintive.

Antiope shoots Diana a thankful look. Then, she rolls her eyes. “Harvard has seventy-three libraries and they’re all named after someone. They only build those things to give donors things to name. Same for bathrooms.”

Diana gives her aunt a quizzical look. “I don’t think that’s the reason people build bathrooms.”

Antiope replies with a smirk. “I’m working on getting a water closet named after me right now.”

Hippolyta sighs. “Diana, you don’t have to…”

“Go to a small liberal arts college in the middle of nowhere?” Diana finishes.

Slightly annoyed at being cut off, Hippolyta replies, “Yes, that.”

“Mother, this was my decision,” Diana says. “I don’t want to go to Harvard or to Yale. I want to learn.”

Hippolyta replies, “Antiope and I both went to Harvard and-”

Here, Antiope chuckles. “I learned how to-”

“Do not finish that sentence,” Hippolyta says, frost in her voice.

Antiope grins. “I think that the things I learned in college have served myself and others very well throughout my life,” she says. “And I had a deep seated need to live up to my older sister’s reputation.

Hippolyta’s face goes bright red. She says nothing.

Diana looks her mother in the eyes. “Do you want me to turn out like Antiope?”

Hippolyta clears her throat. It sounds painful. “You know that I support you,” she says tightly. “And I am very happy that you are growing into a _mature_ adult. And I love you.”

“That’s a ‘no,’” Antiope interjects.

“I love you too, mother,” Diana says.

Antiope pouts.

“And you,” Diana adds.

[] [] []

Menalippe gets home well after eleven. She drops her bag in her room and then goes to sit at the dining room table of her small apartment. Her roommate is taking a shower in their one shared bathroom.

She scoots her chair back slightly so that she can set her chin on the table. She is very tired and, despite having to lock up tonight, she’s opening next morning.

She hates clopens. Everyone hates clopens.

Idly, she pulls out the business card the woman at work gave her. It’s made out of very heavy cardstock and it has survived quite well in her pocket.

Antiope Termados, Esq.

Menalippe frowns. The name sounds familiar but she can’t place it. The card doesn’t say what this Antiope Termados _does_ exactly; it only has her name, a phone number, and an email on it. It is a very strange card.

Down the hall, the bathroom door bangs open. Alexa emerges, wrapped in a blue towel. She waves at Menalippe. “All yours,” she calls.

Menalippe gets up and heads towards the welcome promise of a hot shower.

She leaves the business card on the table.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone. It's me. Cinis. I saw that this pairing hadn't gotten any love in over a week, so I took a day off from NaNo and started up a coffeeshop AU. Hope you liked it.
> 
> Btw, Harvard actually does have a bathroom named after a donor. It's the Falik Men's Room and it's in their law school.
> 
> (Status update on NaNo: I'm at 41k words. I think that fic is going to be a lot longer than planned and I might not start posting it until the first or second weekend of December.)


	2. Antiope No? ANTIOPE GO!

Ever since Diana showed her how to text, Antiope and her phone have been inseparable—probably much to Diana’s dismay since she bears the brunt of Antiope’s texting, but, as Antiope sees it, part of growing up is dealing gracefully with the consequences of your actions.

Diana is, currently, not dealing very gracefully.

Feet propped up on her desk in her office, Antiope taps away at her phone, deep in concentration. She’s spent two weeks now threatening to visit Diana at school and maybe also visit Starbucks. It’s driving her niece crazy.

‘ _Trust me i know when a girl likes me. See u next weekend_ ’

Send.

Within two seconds, Antiope’s phone buzzes. ‘ _ANTIOPE STOP_ ’

Antiope grins. ‘ _Antiope go?_ ’

Bzzt. ‘ _ANTIOPE NO_ ’

‘ _ANTIOPE GO???_ ’

‘ _NO!!!_ ’

Antiope is grinning ear to ear now as she puts away her phone. That’s a perfect place to let the conversation peter out, she thinks.

Hippolyta _wishes_ she could get Diana to talk to her this much.

Slowly, Antiope’s grin starts to fade.

Setting her feet back down on the floor, Antiope begins pushing a piece of paper around the dark wood surface of her desk. Her desk is spotless and the piece of paper is blank. This is her office for meeting with donors, beneficiaries, and the like. She has a different office for actually working in. _That_ office is a proper disaster.

Her show office is big and empty and lonely. Like her _life_.

Adjusting to a post-Diana world is awful. She can only imagine how Hippolyta feels. Their little wonder kid is off to college and the Diana-shaped hole in Antiope’s days can’t be adequately filled with harassing her niece via text. It’s just not the same as harassing her niece in person.

With a flick, Antiope sends the piece of paper flying off her desk. It lands somewhere on the floor. The desk is so large Antiope can’t see where it went without standing up.

Antiope sighs.

She should probably retrieve the paper before her secretary sees her muddling up the pristine room.

Antiope hates it when Orana gives her the ‘I’m not even disappointed because I had no hope in the first place’ look.

Antiope puts her feet back up on her desk and takes out her phone again. Diana has sent no fewer than seven texts in the past sixty seconds.

It’s just not as good as Diana chasing her around Hippolyta’s house with Hippolyta herself bringing up the rear trying to save lamps and vases and bookshelves from crashing over.

It’s _boring_.

On the topic of disappointment though, Antiope is disappointed that the hot barista from the Starbucks near Diana’s school never called. True, it’s been a few years (a lot of years) since Antiope had time and motivation to date, but that shouldn’t have negatively impacted her charm.

She knows, for a fact, that she is still very charming.

Her _job_ is to be charming.

(Well, her job is to aggressively network and to ask for money, but, same difference, really.)

Anyway, she’s very good at her job.

Maybe the barista was straight?

[] [] []

Menalippe is incredibly not straight.

She is very, very gay. She is queer. She is lesbian. She is _Sapphic_.

So why do men keep messaging her on dating websites? How do they even find her?

It’s just one of life’s mysteries. _Unknowable_.

Sighing, Menalippe closes out of her internet browser to go back to staring blankly at her paper. Around her, the denizens of the small college town shuffle about as they crawl into the waking world.

Instead of standing and working at Starbucks, today Menalippe is sitting and working at Starbucks. Thus passes the life of the adjunct.

Menalippe rubs her eyes, trying to fight off sleep. Caffeine. She needs more caffeine. Good thing she’s surrounded by coffee. Moving like a zombie, she pushes away from her table and heads to the counter, leaving her laptop and her pile of books behind. It’s the end of the first month of school and she’s already miserable and exhausted.

At the counter, working the morning shift, Alexa looks at her and sighs. “That bad?” she asks.

Menalippe shakes her head. “You know how it is. _Venti_.”

And indeed Alexa does know how it is. Menalippe is a lecturer in history, Alexa is a lecturer in English, and they both work as baristas to pay their bills while they desperately try to publish and escape to the promised land of milk, honey, and the tenure track.

Alexa gives Menalippe her coffee, black as the abyss that has swallowed both their promising careers, for free.

Working at Starbucks is not without perks.

Menalippe trudges back to her nest of books and papers and sits down. She blows on her drink, hoping that it will cool soon so that she can chug it soon. Eyes glazed over, she looks back to her laptop and the paper that will probably not be enough to save her.

Why did she go to graduate school?

Why did she spend eight years on a PhD in a field with no job prospects?

Idly, Menalippe opens Firefox again to check her tumblr for the tenth time in the past half hour. The only new post on her dash is… _incredibly historically inaccurate_. And from a blog that _ought to know better_.

Menalippe immediately clicks to start composing her scathing rebuttal.

Before long, she’s scowling so hard at her laptop that she almost doesn’t notice someone very politely clearing their throat nearby.

Almost.

She glances up.

The young woman looks familiar—maybe a regular customer? Menalippe isn’t the best at remembering customers and she certainly can’t remember them when she’s not standing behind the counter.

“I wanted to apologize for my aunt,” the young woman says. She looks like a freshman who is trying very hard to act like she is not a freshman.

“I’m sorry?” Menalippe asks.

“I tried to tell her not to hit on people at work but she’s a very bad listener. I am deeply sorry for any trouble she’s caused you.”

Menalippe squints. Where does she remember this person from? And who is her aunt? An aunt who hit on her? Searching her memory, Menalippe tries to dredge up who the last woman to attempt to parlay coffee into a date was. It almost never happens. Men? Always. Women? Nope.

“Oh,” Menalippe finally says. “That was your aunt last month? I thought she was your mother.”

The young woman looks taken aback.

Realizing what it is that she’s suggested, Menalippe hastily tries to add, “I didn’t meant to imply that-”

“No, wait,” the young woman says. “You mean she didn’t come back? She’s been threatening to come back for weeks...” She blinks, processing this revelation. Her face is rapidly growing redder and redder. Then, “My apologies for disturbing you.”

Menalippe really isn’t sure what to say as the young woman beats a very hasty retreat. Over behind the counter, Alexa is staring at her. Menalippe looks to Alexa and shrugs.

Menalippe goes back to educating the internet about her dissertation.

[] [] []

“ _Aunt Antiope_ ,” Diana says as she crosses the parking lot of Antiope’s hotel. She says it in the sort of horrified and exasperated tone that she learned from her mother.

Sitting on the hood of her red Land Rover, Antiope tilts her head at her niece. She’s not sure what it is that she’s done in between the last time they spoke and meeting for lunch. “What’s up, wonder kid?” she asks.

“I thought you’d gone to Starbucks to bother the barista,” Diana wails. “So I went to Starbucks to apologize.”

“Huh,” Antiope says. “That must have been embarrassing.”

The look that Diana fixes Antiope with actually sort of maybe makes her feel slightly guilty.

Hopefully Diana never gets as good as Hippolyta at that.

She probably will.

Antiope needs to nip this in the bud.

“Well I suppose I should go apologize too then,” Antiope says, pushing herself off the hood of her car. She lets a smirk spread across her face, just to put the fear of Antiope in her niece.

Diana only manages a horrified whisper. “Antiope _no_.”

Antiope smirks harder. She whispers back, “ _Antiope go_.”

[] [] []

Standing behind the counter, Menalippe looks over at the door as it opens.

It has not been so long that Menalippe doesn’t recognize the young woman from that morning who tried to apologize for her aunt who didn’t need apologizing for.

Menalippe also recognizes the aunt.

What was her name?

_Really hot slightly older woman._

The young woman looks mortified as she trails behind her aunt towards the counter.

Really hot woman is wearing an easy grin. As before, she’s dressed in an impeccably tailored shirt that shows off exactly how _really hot_ she is. There’s no one in line (except her – she is the line), so she walks straight to Menalippe.

“Hi,” really hot woman says.

“Hi,” Menalippe replies.

Really hot woman gestures to the younger woman behind her. “My niece feels awful that she bothered you when she tried to apologize for me this morning,” really hot woman says. Her grin never falters. “So I wanted to apologize for making her think I was harassing you. I’m not an awful person, I promise.”

“Uhm,” Menalippe says. She can tell that really hot woman is apologizing for something because she has identified her words as an apology. What, exactly, she is apologizing to Menalippe _for_ is a bit confusing though. Menalippe _thinks_ the confusion because really hot woman is just plain confusing. It might be because Menalippe is distracted by how really hot she is though. Guessing at an appropriate response, Menalippe replies, “Thank you, I think.”

Really hot woman’s grin widens slightly. “Thank _you_ for being understanding.” She reaches behind her, gets an arm around her niece’s shoulders, and drags the poor young woman up towards the counter. “Me and the wonder kid really appreciate it.”

Menalippe chances to meet the niece’s eyes and she feels the sort instant and deep connection that only occurs between strangers who find themselves compatriots in extreme second-hand embarrassment.

Menalippe clears her throat. “Can I take your order?”

“Two dark mocha fraps,” really hot woman says, without consulting her niece.

Not that her niece looks capable of speech at this point.

“Right,” says Menalippe. “Names?”

“Antiope and Diana.”

Antiope pays in cash. When she doesn’t have any singles to tip with, she shrugs and hands Menalippe a ten.

Menalippe always makes sure to smile when customers give generous tips, so she smiles at Antiope.

She thinks she’d probably smile for Antiope even if she’d tipped like a normal human being.

(But maybe not if Antiope hadn’t tipped at all. Menalippe doesn’t get the sense Antiope is that kind of person though.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello again. I am glad to see other people posting things for this pairing. It pleases me. I would like for the entire world to know the joy that is Antiope/Menalippe.
> 
> I got through 51k words on my NaNo a couple days ago and I wrote this chapter as my "take a break before edits" break. Hope you enjoyed.


	3. Above Average Steve

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't like the way hyphenated words look in the Ao3 font, so I mostly don't use them.

“Did you see that?” Antiope asks. “She smiled at me!” She and Diana are walking down the sidewalk of the main street of the sleepy college town that Diana has chosen as her home for the next four years. For a school without a major athletics program, it’s almost disturbing how many of the storefronts they pass are coated in thick layers of school colors. Orange and chartreuse. What a disaster.

From the light posts hang banners featuring the school mascot: Harriet the Fighting Armadillo.

Points for a female mascot, Antiope supposes.

Diana sighs, loudly, like she doesn’t think Antiope understands subtlety (she’s right, Antiope doesn’t, but that’s not the point). “You paid for a ten-dollar order with a twenty-dollar bill and then left all of the change as a tip. _Of course she smiled at you_.” Diana sets her mouth on her green Starbucks straw and siphons up some of her frap. “Whatever happened to… what was her name? Niobe?”

Antiope shrugs. “She thought I worked too hard,” she says.

Diana gives her aunt a quizzical look. “Do you?”

“Work too hard?” Antiope asks.

“Work,” Diana clarifies. “Do you work?”

“I resent the implications of that question,” Antiope announces cheerfully. “Have you ever wondered who’s paying for this fancy school of yours?”

“I thought that was the trust fund,” Diana says.

Antiope coughs. “But who rustled up the money in the trust fund?” she tries.

“Grandma?” Diana suggests.

Antiope pauses. Then, “I’m flying to Switzerland on Monday to work on financing a new wind farm in Ohio.”

“But somehow you still have time to be here, harassing me,” Diana replies.

Antiope takes a very loud slurp of her frap. “You’re right,” she says. “I should spend less time harassing you and more time hitting on hot baristas.”

Diana groans, dramatic. “Aunt Antiope, for the love of-”

“Diana!”

A blond, decidedly above-average looking young man is walking towards them. Antiope narrows her eyes. Hippolyta will want a report with no details left out. He is, she notes, decidedly above-average looking _despite_ wearing a hideous orange and chartreuse school shirt. A difficult feat to be sure. Not bad, Antiope thinks, not bad at all.

Blushing, Diana turns to the above-average looking young man. “Hi Steve,” she says. She glances at Antiope. “This is my aunt Antiope. She’s visiting this weekend.”

Diana’s heel lands very hard on the top of Antiope’s foot.

Ok. _Fine_.

Antiope manages a pained grin. “Hi Steve,” she says. She extends a hand for him to shake. “It’s very nice to meet you.”

Steve has an above average handshake. He doesn’t try to either crush Antiope’s hand or avoid her. A good sign.

Not that Antiope will be won so easily, mind you. Steve will have to do better than just ‘ _above average_ ’ in order to be good enough for Antiope’s niece.

“It’s nice to meet you too,” Steve says. He’s talking to Antiope but he’s smiling at Diana.

Most excellent. Something to hold against him. Hippolyta will be pleased.

“Antiope was just on her way back to her hotel,” Diana says.

Antiope nods. “Right,” she says. “Work calls, even on Saturday.”  
  
“That’s too bad,” Steve says. “Are you coming with us to the game tomorrow afternoon?”

“The… game?” Antiope asks.

“With us?” Diana asks.

Steve nods excitedly. “Yeah, the women’s soccer game,” he says. “Diana’s roommate is on the team so we’re going to support her. You should come with us.”

Diana looks horrified and that’s all Antiope needs to make up her mind. “Of course,” she says. “Thank you for inviting me.”

Above Average Steve is starting to grow on her.

[] [] []

Sitting in the bleachers, Menalippe adjusts her sunglasses. It’s a cloudy day, but, _orange and chartreuse_. And the athletics department wonders why they have one of the worst records in Division III?

To be fair, it’s a wonder they don’t win at least a few games just by blinding the opposing team.

“Do you miss it?” Alexa asks. She opens her purse and pulls out a flask. She takes a swig before handing it to Menalippe.

“Yes,” Menalippe replies. “Scrimmages aren’t the same.” She takes the flask, takes a swig, then hands it back. She’s not sure what they’re drinking, but it tastes surprisingly good for coming out of a flask. It is, however, quite strong. “Also, when I was an undergrad, where I was an undergrad, we won.”

Alexa takes another gulp of liquor and makes a face. “They try so hard,” she says.

Menalippe watches as their team gives up a goal. She holds out her hand for the flask. Maybe if she drinks more she and Alexa will be watching the same game.

“Hey, are these seats taken?”

Menalippe looks up to see a very much above-average looking undergrad wearing entirely too much school spirit. She’s glad she’s wearing her sunglasses. “No, go for it,” she says.

Suddenly, from the other side of the above-average undergrad, a familiar face. It’s really hot probably-not-actually-married lesbian who tips well. Uh. _Antiope_. “Hi!” Antiope says, grinning. “Fancy seeing you here.”

“Hi,” Menalipe manages. Immediately, she begins mentally berating herself. _Hi?_ Is that the best she can do for Really Hot Not-Married Lesbian? _Hi?!?_

Next to her, her niece Diana grabs hold of her arm. “There are some better seats over there,” Diana says, pointing to a patch of empty bleacher closer to the field. “Let’s go sit there. Come on, Steve. Antiope. _Antiope_. ANTIOPE.”

Antiope has scooted her way around her niece and Above Average Steve. “Why don’t you go sit with your boyfriend,” she says. “I’ll stay here.” She smiles at Menalippe. “If that’s okay?”

“He’s not my boyfriend,” Diana says.

“We’re not together,” says Above Average Steve.

“Sure,” says Menalippe. She’s an adult working on a college campus. She can spot an awkward teenage romance from a mile away. Sooner or later Diana and Above Average Steve are going to show up at Starbucks on a coffee date. She can _feel_ it.

And then Really Hot Not-Married Lesbian (whose name is Antiope) sits down next to her.

And then, instead of going down to the other seats she picked out, Diana sits down next to Antiope and Above Average Steve sits down next to Diana.

Not sure what to say, Menalippe offers Alexa’s flask to Antiope. Alexa interjects, “That doesn’t go to the children. They look like they’re sixteen and good booze is wasted on the young.”

Antiope takes a gulp from the flask and then laughs. “Are you kidding?” she says. “Diana’s mother would kill me.”

Menalippe pulls a face. “Something tells me that’s never stopped you before.”  
  
Antiope offers her back the flask. She smiles and the way she does it, it feels like she’s smiling for Menalippe and Menalippe alone in all the world (though the warm buzz in her head might also be the alcohol, quite honestly). “Nope,” Antiope admits happily.

“Diana, I like your aunt,” offers Above Average Steve.

“I don’t,” Diana deadpans.

Antiope twists to face Above Average Steve. “Isn’t she the best aunt?” she asks, utterly shameless.

Menalippe can’t help but smile. “I like Diana’s aunt too,” she says.

Antiope lets out a whoop and she pumps her fist victoriously. “I win!” she exclaims.

Diana groans, loudly.

Menalippe takes another pull from the flask. It’s starting to get light. She hands it back to Alexa. Then, “I’m Menalippe,” she says. She tips her head towards Alexa, “And this is my housemate Alexa.”

“Hi,” Alexa calls over from Menalippe’s other side.

Antiope offers Menalippe a hand to shake. “I’m Antiope,” she says. She adds, “Hi Alexa,” then, “But I think we’ve already been over that a few times.”

Menalippe takes Antiope’s hand, shakes it, and then lets go only reluctantly. Antiope has a nice handshake. It’s firm. Her hand is slightly calloused but not rough; she probably works out but doesn’t work, at least, not with her hands. This isn’t particularly surprising considering how well she’s dressed. “Do you live near here?” Menalippe asks.

“Nah,” says Antiope. “I’m visiting from the city for the weekend. I thought Diana was probably missing me.”

“I wasn’t,” Diana calls out.

Menalippe is aware that her own smiling at this juncture probably looks silly but Antiope is, she thinks, a very silly person. Alexa, no doubt, is going to accuse Menalippe of the same when they get home. In the meantime though, Alexa and Menalippe have been friends long enough that Alexa will probably not be saying anything at all until then. Alexa is a good friend. “What do you do in the city?” Menalippe asks Antiope. “Your business card didn’t say.”

Antiope shrugs. “This and that,” she says. “I network. I ask people for money. I’m very good at it because I’m so charming.” As she says _charming_ she wiggles her eyebrows comically. “And what do you do, Menalippe, when you’re not putting up with the antics of customers at Starbucks?”

Menalippe’s smile falters slightly. She sees that Antiope notices because Antiope’s grin falters too in response. Quickly, Menalippe tries to correct and smile again. “I’m a lecturer in History here,” she says.

“You’re a professor?” Antiope asks.

“Adjunct professor,” Menalippe corrects. “If I were an actual professor, I wouldn’t be working at Starbucks.” She pauses. “Or I might. Academia doesn’t pay.”

As soon as she’s spoken, she regrets it. While she and Alexa complain to one another about their salaries constantly, Menalippe is suddenly uncomfortably aware that Antiope is wearing very nice clothes. She makes an attempt to change the subject. “Do you like soccer?”

To Menalippe’s relief, Antiope pivots the conversation with her. “Yeah, I used to play when I was in college,” she says. “I still like watching, especially with Hope running for president and the national team out there kicking ass.” She pauses and glances at the field below them. “This game is…”

“This game is a disaster,” Menalippe finishes for her. “It’s probably because the school colors are orange and chartreuse and the mascot is an armadillo. Armadillos don’t kick soccer balls. Armadillos _are_ soccer balls.”

“Hey now,” Antiope replies. “Don’t insult Harriet. Being an armadillo isn’t easy.”

Menalippe squints at the field. The school keeps a live armadillo, but she can’t see it today. Though it’s only light jacket weather for humans, for armadillos, she supposes, it might be quite cold. “I’ve heard Harriet lives very comfortably in a greenhouse on campus,” she says.

Antiope blinks. “Harriet is real?”

“Sometimes she’s at games,” Menalippe says. “Not today though.”

“Huh,” replies Antiope. “So you come to these games often?”

“Alexa and I are on a graduate school team,” Menalippe says. “We scrimmage with some of the varsity girls sometimes.”

Antiope chuffs. “You scrimmage and you win, right?”

“Right,” Menalippe says, voice dry. Most of the women on the graduate school team played for far more serious programs in undergrad. Programs that weren’t dripping in orange and chartreuse. Being old and sad hasn’t slowed them down so much that they can’t consistently trounce the varsity team. “We scrimmage and we win.”

“With you on the team, I’d expect nothing less,” Antiope says.

“I’m flattered,” Menalippe says. And she is. She’s almost flattered enough to wonder if she still has-

“So do you still have my number or did you throw it away with all the other numbers you get?” Antiope asks.

Menalippe offers Antiope a lopsided smile. “I’m actually not sure. Why don’t you give it to me again? Or I can give you mine.”

Antiope’s answering grin stretches wide across her face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> After last week's angst derailment, now we are back to coffeeshop crack fluff. Hope you enjoyed, lol.
> 
> Next week will probably either be more coffeeshop or I'll finally get around to starting posting my NaNo. I ended up deciding on some pretty severe edits to it (meaning I deleted about 25k words and am now struggling to rewrite a lot of stuff and change the plot) and I sort of am required to take some exams for school this week and those might be kind of important and possibly a priority.


	4. I Am Not A Millennial

Sitting at her breakfast table in Switzerland, Antiope pulls out her trusty phone. By her estimate, it’s approximately 1 a.m. back in the States. Perfect niece-harassing time.

And, well, Diana is eighteen. She’s at college. There’s no way she’s asleep.

“Siri,” Antiope says through a mouthful of waffle, “Call Victim Prime.”

Diana’s phone rings and goes to voicemail. Antiope calls again. And then again. And then on the fifth ring of the fourth call, Diana picks up. She sounds tired and peeved and Antiope gets the impression that perhaps Diana is not quite doing college right. “What?” Diana snaps.

“What’s a good restaurant for lunch near your school?” Antiope asks, cheerful to hear the voice of family on a beautiful Friday morning.

“ _Yelp_ ,” Diana hisses.

Antiope taps her fork against her plate, pensive. “What kind of food do they serve?”

There’s a thud from Diana’s end of the line. It sounds painful. Antiope hopes she’s not hurt. “It’s a website,” Diana says. “It’s like Google for restaurants.”

There’s another voice in the background, “Diana… loud…”

The voice sounds… male… and… above average.

“Oh,” says Antiope. So Diana’s doing college right after all. Good. But somewhat secondary to Antiope’s objective. She clears her throat. “But if I wanted to ask Google, I would have asked Google. Instead, I asked you.”

Diana groans. “What do you want?”

“I want to ask Menalippe out on a lunch date,” Antiope says. “Because I thought coffee was probably a bad idea.”

“You’re Antiope,” Diana replies. “You love bad ideas.”

“Menalippe is _not_ a bad idea,” Antiope retorts. She says it rather loudly and around her other diners stare. She winces, then tries to grin at them. They slowly return to their own breakfasts—charm never fails her.

Diana sighs. “Fine,” she says. “Is she a vegetarian?”

Antiope scowls at the remainder of her waffle. It hasn’t come up and she doesn’t know.

Correctly interpreting her aunt’s lack of response, Diana forges ahead, “She’s a queer woman and most queer women are vegetarian. So she’s probably a vegetarian.”

A smirk spreads across Antiope’s face. God, she loves her niece so much. “No,” she says. “Most queer women are _pescatarian_.”

There’s a resounding silence on the line, then a distinct _click_.

Chuckling softly to herself, Antiope taps her phone to bring up Yelp.

[] [] []

“She wants to get lunch,” Menalippe shouts. She’s sprawled across the couch in her apartment. In theory she’s answering panicked emails from students about the midterm. In reality, she’s texting Antiope. She’s paid per classroom hour and there’s no bonus for soothing the well-deserved anxieties of students who never bothered showing up for lecture.

In the kitchen, Alexa looks up from her vegetable chopping. She turns down the music on her phone and puts down her knife. “Say what now?”

“The woman from the soccer game wants to get lunch with me next weekend,” Menalippe says.

“The woman you talked to for an hour while ignoring me and the rest of the world?” Alexa asks.

“Yeah,” says Menalippe. “That one.”

“So you said yes, right?” Alexa prompts. “You two really got along.”

“Of course I said yes,” Menalippe says. “But she asked where to go, since I know the area better.”

“I get it,” replies Alexa. “Well. Is she vegetarian? There’s that hamburger shop off Main Street.”

Menalippe wrinkles her nose. “I don’t know,” she says.

Alexa shrugs. “There’s also that Indian place, but it’s kind of dark. But since most lesbians are vegetarian…”

 

Alexa picks up her knife again and waves it in Menalippe’s direction. “Don’t you dare finish that sentence,” she warns. “Suffering Sappho. I hope soccer aunt knows what she’s in for.”

[] [] []

Antiope is delighted to discover that Menalippe is neither a vegetarian nor a pescatarian. _Burgers!_ Sitting across the table from her sister and Philippus, she happily taps away at her phone.

Hippolyta clears her throat.

Antiope politely ignores the throat clearing. It’s that time of year. Hippolyta should really get a flu shot, she’s starting to get old.

Hippolyta clears her throat again, louder this time.

Antiope looks up, doing her best not to appear at all sheepish. She mustn’t show weakness.

“It’s your turn,” Hippolyta says, gesturing to the game board between them. It’s Risk. Hippolyta and Philippus are fighting a land war in Asia. Antiope is happily holed up in Australia waiting to murder whichever one of them comes out on top. Probably Philippus. Hippolyta and Philippus have only been seeing each other for a few months, but Antiope knows that Hippolyta has a type.

Antiope glances at the board. “Put everyone on Indonesia for me,” she says. “I pass.” She then goes back to her phone. Menalippe is triple checking that Antiope eats meat. Antiope chuckles. She has the perfect response.

‘ _Ofc just not sausage_ ’

“Why aren’t you trying to take over Africa? Or South America?” Hippolyta asks, almost plaintive as she names Philippus’ two strongholds.

Without really looking up from her phone, Antiope shakes her head. “I like it in Australia,” she says. “Very welcoming wildlife. You should meet the drop bears. Quite friendly.”

“Antiope,” Hippolyta says. She says it in her disappointed-older-sister-trying-to-imitate-mom voice.

Antiope’s phone buzzes. Menalippe. ‘ _Me too. Tried it once, didn’t like it_ ’

Antiope smirks at her phone. _‘:P_ ’

Hippolyta sighs. To the best of Antiope’s awareness, she obligingly puts Antiope’s men on Indonesia and then resumes her slow and inevitable march towards defeat fighting her girlfriend for control of Irkutsk.

[] [] []

Hot soccer aunt Antiope arrives so excruciatingly on time that Menalippe gets the impression she’s been lurking around the corner for the past ten minutes watching a clock. Which is… sort of adorable.

It’s mid-November and the weather has turned from “probably not armadillo weather” to “definitely not armadillo weather” since the last time they saw each other. Antiope is wearing a charcoal peacoat and grinning ear to ear.

“Hey,” Antiope says.

“Hey,” Menalippe replies. “How are you?”

“I’m good, I’m good…” Antiope says. She trails off. They’re standing just a little bit outside of greeting-hug distance now. Will Antiope initiate a hug? Will Menalippe initiate a hug? Are they the kind of friends who hug? Are they the kind of friends who hug but they don’t know each other well enough yet? Is this about to turn into an awkward-because-it-was-unexpected hug and cheek kiss?

Menalippe tilts her head towards the door of the burger shop. “Burger time?”

Antiope nods emphatically. “Burger time,” she confirms.

Somewhat belatedly, Menalippe remembers that the name of the place she’s chosen is, in fact, Burger Time.

Menalippe orders a cheeseburger with jalapenos, guacamole, and sriracha mayonnaise.

Antiope orders a double patty everything burger.

She has to say her order three times before the college student behind the counter realizes she’s serious.

Sitting down and watching Antiope disappear her food, Menalippe can’t decide what’s more amazing, that Antiope manages to open her mouth wide enough to get a bite out of the burger, that she eats the entire thing without getting anything on her shirt, or that she finishes her lunch, fries and all, before Menalippe.

The last part might be attributable to Menalippe being too busy gaping at Antiope to eat her own burger.

When Antiope is done, she wipes her fingers off on a napkin and declares, “I’m glad I’m not a vegetarian.” Quickly, Menalippe crams the last of her own burger into her mouth. Antiope grins. “No need to rush,” she says.

Antiope is right. There is no need to rush. In fact, there is a reason _not_ to rush, as Menalippe discovers when, mouth entirely full of burger, she bites down on a surprise jalapeno. Unable to do anything but continue chewing, she blinks back tears. Even worse, she’s out of water.

Helpful, Antiope pushes her own cup of water towards Menalippe.

Menalippe takes the water and uses it to wash down her mistake.

Picking at Menalippe’s fries, Antiope says, voice light, “Don’t worry, I still think you’re cute.”

Menalippe clears her throat and grabs the biggest fry out form the pile before Antiope can steal it. “Good to know,” she says. “If you couldn’t handle a woman eating a burger, I’d have to leave now.”

“Hey,” Antiope replies, mock defensive. “I know how to act my age sometimes.”

Menalippe raises an eyebrow. “You realize that invites the question, right?”

“Thirty-nine,” Antiope says. “You?”

“Thirty-five,” Menalippe replies. “Not that any birthday after thirty has mattered.”

Antiope laughs. The sound of her laughter draws a smile to Menalippe’s lips. “If we were at a bar,” Antiope starts, “I’d say I’d drink to that. But we’re not at a bar, so I’m just going to take this fry instead.” True to her word, she snags a very nice-looking fry from Menalippe’s plate.

From there, the conversation spirals off, covering everything from the natural range of armadillos to the comparative quality of Star Wars and Star Trek. Two hours pass and Menalippe hardly notices. Eventually though, Antiope sighs and points to the clock on the wall. “I’m picking Diana up take her back to the city for fall break,” she says. “I promised I’d get her there in time for dinner.”

Menalippe does her best not to look disappointed. She thinks she succeeds. “This was nice,” she says. “Let’s do it again?”

Antiope grins. She taps her pocket where her phone is. “You have my number,” she says. “Unless you need it again?”

Menalippe shakes her head. “I’m good,” she says.

Antiope is not one to let opportunities pass her by. “Good? I think you sell yourself short. And when it comes to being short, I should know.”

Menalippe laughs and Antiope laughs with her.

[] [] []

Pulling up in front of Diana’s dorm, Antiope cuts the engine of her car and gets out. She tosses her keys to her niece, who’s so surprised she almost drops them.

“Antiope?” Diana asks.

Antiope walks over to the passenger side, opens the door, and sits down in shotgun. “I don’t believe in texting and driving,” she announces. “Let’s go home now. Chop chop.”

[] [] []

Menalippe goes back to her apartment immediately and throw her keys down on the living room table. “Alexa,” she calls. “Help.”

Alexa pokes her head up from the couch. “Do I look like an Amazon service?” she demands. In the background, Teen Titans Go! plays loudly.

Menalippe pulls her phone from her purse and waves it in the air. “I need a date idea,” she says, “Fast.”

Groaning, Alexa pulls herself fully up into a seated position and mutes her cartoons. “You just had a date,” she says. “It went well? Why do you need an idea fast?”

Menalippe collapses into one of the chairs at their table and scowls at her phone. “Because I am not a millennial.”

[] [] []

In the car, Antiope has her feet on the dash. She’s holding onto her phone but still turning on the screen every minute or so to see if she has any messages. She does have messages, lots of them, all about work. She has zero messages that she actually wants, which is to say she has no messages from Menalippe.

At the wheel, Diana is hurtling down the highway at fifteen over while keeping one eye on the radar detector.

Diana learned how to drive from her Aunt Antiope.

And normally Aunt Antiope would be very proud of her little wonder kid all grown up, but right now, she’s checking her phone for the seventy-third time.

“I don’t understand why she hasn’t texted yet,” Antiope says. “She said she still had my number.”

“Not texting you within half an hour doesn’t mean she doesn’t like you,” Diana says as she accelerates to pass a car. “It’s normal. If you text someone right after a date, you look desperate.”

Antiope scowls at her poor phone. “Doesn’t Steve text you immediately?” she whines.

Diana coughs slightly. “Steve responds to texts in an above average fashion,” she says.

[] [] []

“Bar?” Alexa suggests.

Still at the table, Menalippe shakes her head and then drops her head into her hands. “She drives to get here and we’re not there yet,” she says.

Alexa groans. “You’ve said no to lunch, no to dinner, no to movie, no to bar… Are you sure you want to go out with hot soccer aunt again?”

 Menalippe perks up. “Hot soccer aunt! That’s perfect!”

Alexa squints at her roommate suspiciously.

[] [] []

Diana has reached the outskirts of the city when Antiope’s phone finally buzzes. She immediately opens it.

‘ _My soccer team is scrimmaging with the varsity girls next weekend. Do you still play?_ ’

Antiope grins ear to ear.

‘ _Yes_ ,’ she lies.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi hello here's a Friday update. I'm on break and it's boring and I have nothing better to do than write. So you may also get an update for Defying Tomorrow later this weekend.


	5. Antiope is Good at Everything

A week is just enough time for Antiope to get a new pair of cleats and break them in.

She hasn’t played since Diana joined her high school team and didn’t want to practice with her aunt anymore, but Antiope has made a point of staying in shape and soccer, she thinks, ought to be like riding a bike. She used to be very good. And now, really, all she has to do is be better than everyone else. Easy. She’s been doing that her entire life.

When the day of the game comes, she packs up a blue gym bag, tosses it in her car, and heads out, all a few hours before the crack of dawn. Diana’s college is far enough from the city that a late morning game means a very early morning drive. Antiope had meant to surreptitiously check into a hotel in town the previous day, but, despite what her niece may think, she does work sometimes and sometimes work requires her to stay late at the office yelling at woefully misguided souls on the phone and waiting to sign papers.

At least leaving the city in the morning is better traffic than the poor schmucks trying to commute in.

It’s an uneventful drive, which is the best kind of drive.

The sky threatens rain.

Antiope hopes that the sky refrains.

It’s late November and it’s a tad too chilly for that nonsense.

Antiope arrives exactly on time according to Antiope—she arrives with half-hour to drive in circles around the campus pretending she’s not half an hour early. She’s going to play soccer with Menalippe today. She’s going to leave nothing to chance.

At 9:45 a.m. sharp she pulls into the gravel lot near the college’s soccer fields. There are already several orange and chartreuse clad people jogging around the field warming up but, to Antiope’s disappointment, Menalippe isn’t among them. Perhaps that’s a good thing though. Menalippe is not just ‘ _Starbucks barista’_ but ‘ _hot Starbucks barista’_ for a reason, but even she probably couldn’t pull off orange and chartreuse.

In any case, it’s okay though.

Antiope has a Diana sighting at 2 o’clock and niece-embarrassing is her favorite pastime.

[] [] []

A shiver runs down Diana’s spine.

She’s at school warming up to play soccer with her roommate and her roommate’s team.

Why is her Antiope-sense tingling?

[] [] []

Standing at the door to their apartment, Menalippe taps her foot and checks the clock on her phone while waiting for Alexa to find her other shin guard.

They live together in a shoebox. It’s not big enough to lose anything in.

It’s already 9:47 and the fields are a good ten-minute drive away. Menalippe isn’t worried about missing the start of the game (the games always start late) so much as she’s worried about—

Alexa comes careening out of her room, tugging her shin guard on while hopping wildly across the living floor, black gym bag slung over her shoulder. “Don’t give me that look,” she mumbles when she finally makes it to Menalippe and the door. “We’re not going to be late and even if we were, if ever there were a woman who can entertain herself, it’s your girlfriend.”

Caught between ‘ _I don’t think one date means she’s my girlfriend_ ’ and ‘ _That’s what I’m afraid of,_ ’ Menalippe says, “You’ve only met her once.” Not waiting for a reply, she opens the door and steps out into the cool November air. Despite her jacket, Menalippe shivers. Still tying her shoelaces, Alexa comes hopping after her as they head for Menalippe’s aging red pickup.

Thankfully, there’s almost no traffic on the streets of the sleepy college town. Above, the sky looks a bit overcast and like it might rain. Menalippe hopes it doesn’t. It’s the last game of the season (and Antiope is coming) so she’d rather it not be rained out. Playing through November rain is for people younger than the graduate student team.

Alexa looks out the window at the empty sidewalks. “When was the last time neither of us had a Saturday morning shift?” she muses.

Checking traffic before taking a right turn on red, Menalippe frowns. “Didn’t we meet on a Saturday shift?”

Alexa snorts. “That’s right, we did,” she says slowly, obviously happily reminiscing. “You were new, and you had five guys trying to give you their number at the same time. It was a store record.”

“I don’t see why at least two of them didn’t split off for you,” Menalippe grumbles.

This get a laugh from Alexa. “Probably because I’m black,” she says.

Menalippe makes a strangled noise. She coughs, clears her throat, then, “I’m too white to comment on that.”

“That sounds like the title of a social justice think piece,” Alexa replies.

“Do you think writing those things pays better than Starbucks?” Menalippe wonders out loud.

Whatever answer Alexa might give is cut short by their pulling into the gravel lot near the school fields. Instead, Alexa asks, “You ready to show those undergrads how to play?”

“Always,” Menalippe says. She parks her truck and they both get out.

“You ready to show off to your girlfriend?” Alexa asks.

Menalippe looks around, looking for Antiope. If Antiope is here—and she probably is, since Menalippe and Alexa are running late—she’s not in the parking lot. “Yes,” Menalippe says.

“That’s the spirit,” Alexa calls.

Together, they walk from the gravel lot down to the field where the graduate and the undergraduate teams are starting to huddle up. Scanning the crowd, Menalippe locates Antiope quickly. For some reason, she’s standing amidst a sea of orange and chartreuse, which is to say, she’s huddled up with the undergrads.

Menalippe squints. Why is…

Oh.

Menalippe winces.

She should probably go rescue Diana.

[] [] []

Antiope determines that Menalippe has arrived based on the look of relief on her niece’s face. Stopping mid-sentence in her story of how an eight-year old Diana bit her soccer coach and gave him a black eye for telling a girl she couldn’t play because she was a boy, Antiope spins around, grins, and waves. Menalippe is still several yards off. She smiles and raises a hand in greeting in reply.

“You’re in the wrong huddle,” Menalippe says. She sounds amused. “Come on.”

Antiope is more than happy to oblige. As she departs, she thinks she can hear Diana give a thankful sigh behind her.

(The end of the story was that Antiope was very proud of Diana and took her out for ice cream six days in a row. Antiope was a cool aunt, in her own humble opinion. It was only six days because Hippolyta found out on day seven and yelled at Antiope that just because mint ice cream was green that didn’t make it a vegetable.)

[] [] []

Sitting on the sidelines a little after halftime, letting other players have a turn, Menalippe stares blankly at… whatever it is she’s watching.

It’s difficult for Menalippe to articulate exactly why it is that the undergraduate team—composed of a contingent from the school’s varsity program and then a handful of friends and club players—normally does so badly. They’re in better shape than the graduate students, but maybe it’s that their technique isn’t quite what it should be and their teamwork is chaotic. Today though, their usual lack of teamwork has translated into a strategy that’s working surprisingly well for them: ‘ _pass Diana the orange and chartreuse soccer ball and pray_.’

Antiope’s niece is very, very good. She’s should-be-a-Div-I-starter-with-a-scholarship good.

For the first time in a long time, the undergraduates are winning.

Unable to cope, the graduate students’ strategy has, in turn, devolved into ‘ _pass Antiope the orange and chartreuse soccer ball and pray_.’

It’s not working as well as the undergraduates giving Diana the ball, but it’s still netting them goals.

Menalippe is very proud. She’s done a lot less showing off today than Antiope has—but she doesn’t mind in the least because Antiope is putting on an incredible show.

The game is a frantically high-scoring one. While normally at the end of the game the graduate students will walk away with a 2-0 win, or maybe a 2-1 win, today they’re behind 5-7 and they’ve only just passed the halftime mark. Neither Diana nor Antiope show any signs of slowing down, even as the rest of the players on the field sort of stagger in their wake.

Above, the sky is growing darker. Concerned, Menalippe pulls out her phone and checks the weather. They’re sitting at a 90% chance of precipitation, which means…

A fat drop of rain hits the glass screen of Menaippe’s phone, creating rainbow splatters around it as light refracts up.

“This isn’t the kind of game that stops for rain.” Menalippe looks over at the other woman currently sitting out. Shayera Hol, an Egyptology PhD candidate in her last year of study, is sitting in a green folding chair with her arms crossed over her chest—which is her normal posture. “I hope someone gets tired and gives up soon. I want to play."

Menalippe inclines her head towards the players on the field, jogging slowly to catch up with Antiope as she zooms along headed for another goal. “I’m sure that someone will be willing to come out as soon as—"

Antiope shoots and scores.

“That happens,” Menalippe finishes. She stands along with Shayera and waves towards the field. After a quick discussion among the players, two of them head for the sideline. Shayera knows what she wants and she goes in for Helena at right forward. That leaves Menalippe replacing Dinah at left midfield.

As she crosses the field to her place, the rain begins to pick up. It’s _cold_ rain. They’re all going to get sick doing this, Menalippe thinks. But the score is 6-7 and Shayera was right. Today, they’re not playing the sort of game that stops for rain.

[] [] []

Antiope is going to win.

Antiope is a winner.

A winner is Antiope.

She’s soaked through and cold but as she hurtles down the field, she feels _alive_. The game is tied at 8-8 and though she doesn’t know the clock, she has the sense that there’s not much time left. The referee is spending almost as much time checking her watch as she is watching the game.

Diana has the ball and she’s headed towards the goal with what must be three-quarters of the grad student team swarming her.

Antiope would be proud, except that Diana is on the other team and standing between Antiope and victory.

Diana should know better.

Instead of supporting Diana, the undergrad team is mobbing Antiope, pre-empting any pass attempt.

This is fine.

Alexa manages to get the ball away from Diana. Even before Alexa can look for Antiope, Antiope shouts and points, “Mena’s open!”

Alexa kicks and the orange and chartreuse soccer ball goes hurtling across the field to Menalippe. Menalippe receives the pass but almost loses control of the ball. They’re playing in rain, the ball is slick, everything’s covered in mud and bits of grass, and they’re probably ripping the field up to hell. For a moment, Antiope’s breath catches. The moment passes quickly though. Menalippe gets the ball under her and takes off, rocketing down the field and easily avoiding the few opposing players who hadn’t been guarding Antiope.

Diana goes sprinting after her, but Antiope can already tell that neither Diana nor the rest of the undergrad team will be able to catch up.

Antiope herself follows at a jog.

Half a field away, Menalippe shoots.

Half a field away, Menalippe scores.

The whistle sounds.

Antiope lets out a victory whoop and her jog becomes a sprint. She’s the first one to reach Menalippe. She gives Menalippe a high-five and then turns it into a jump-hug and then the grass is slippery and it becomes a sort of awkward jump-hug-stumble-fall thing that ends with both of them on the ground.

Tangled up in the muddy grass, it does not escape Antiope’s attention that Menalippe is muscular, warm, and has beautiful eyes that Antiope fully intends to stare into for hours someday.

Right now though—

Laughing, Antiope picks herself up and offers a smiling Menalippe a hand. The cheering rest of their team swarms them. Menalippe takes Antiope’s hand and stands. When she’s on her feet, she doesn’t let go though. She tugs on Antiope a little and asks, “No congratulatory kiss?”

Antiope grins. “I like it when you’re presumptuous,” she says, then pops up onto her toes to give her girlfriend a quick peck on the cheek.

 _Girlfriend_.

Antiope likes the sound of that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sort of a filler chapter because I realized that I accidentally boxed myself into needing to write a soccer game date but soccer game dates are a lot easier to picture than they are to write. Also filler in that this entire fic is what I'm writing so that I have something to post while I work on editing more intense fics haha
> 
> Next chapter is either the Adventures of Above Average Steve or some kind of relationship drama to keep this fic interesting. Not sure yet.


	6. Adventures of Above Average Steve, Pt. 1

Diana’s aunt is not as bad as Diana makes her out to be, Steve thinks.

He, Diana, Antiope, and Antiope’s girlfriend who is also a professor (which is a bit intimidating, in Steve’s opinion—though, to be frank, Diana and Antiope also intimidating in their own right) are sitting together at a table in the pub that the women’s club soccer group picked out for its end-of-season get-together. It’s Saturday evening in that magical time before the establishment starts carding people at the door, and everyone has had the chance to shower and dry themselves off. Despite best intentions, the group has divided itself up into the graduate students at the bar with beers and undergrads at the tables with various non-alcoholic beverages, the exception being the table Steve has been brought to. The seating has worked out such that Steve is next to Diana and Antiope and Menalippe are across from them.

“I taught her everything she knows,” Antiope declares.

Menalippe takes a sip of her beer. “Really?” she asks, face straight and voice deadpan. “I haven’t seen you at any faculty meetings.”

Antiope sighs. “You wouldn’t,” she says, looking forlornly at her own beer. “I’m short and it’s hard to find me in crowds.”

“She did teach me soccer,” Diana says. Unlike her aunt and her aunt’s girlfriend, Diana is drinking pop.

Sensing his cue, Steve smiles and adds, “She did a very good job of it.”

He’s good at being a boyfriend, if he does say so himself.

“Why aren’t you on the varsity team?” Menalippe asks. “Or at a school with a major program?” As far as Steve can tell, Menalippe is a very pleasant person; which makes her slightly less intimidating. Only slightly.

Diana shrugs. “I didn’t want to play for a school.”

“We were beating scouts off with a stick,” Antiope says, proud. 

“Less the scouts, more just Hippolyta,” Diana grumbles.

It takes Steve a moment to remember that Hippolyta is the name of Diana’s mother. In the few months they’ve been going out, she’s mentioned her aunt more often than her mother. It’s something that he’s noticed but has never asked about.

“You know…” Antiope starts, drawing out her words contemplatively. Sitting next to Steve, Diana stiffens. Across the table, Menalippe also looks sort of apprehensive, though not to the same degree as Diana.

When it’s clear that Antiope is waiting for someone to prompt her to continue, Menalippe obliges with a, “Hm?”

“Speaking of family…” Antiope says, trailing off again.

 “Where are you going with this?” Diana asks, wary.

Antiope grins. “So glad you asked,” she says. “Steve, Menalippe, do either of you have plans for Thanksgiving already?”

In retrospect, the grin should have been warning enough for Steve to proceed with caution. Or the way Menalippe looked at her girlfriend. Or, really, if he’d just heeded any of Diana’s warnings about dealing with her aunt.

_But she seemed so harmless._

_And it was such a normal question._

“I’m staying here for Thanksgiving,” Steve, unsuspecting, says. He’s from the other side of the country and his family doesn’t have the money to fly him home—not that he feels like talking about that. It’s embarrassing and he knows Diana well enough at this point that he’s certain she’d immediately buy him a ticket as soon as the words left his mouth, which would only add to the embarrassment.

Antiope turns to Menalippe now. “What about you?”

“I don’t know yet,” Menalippe says, somewhat careful in her words.

Antiope’s grin widens. “Why don’t both of you come down to the city and have a family Thanksgiving with us?”

The trap has been sprung and, sharing a panicked look with Diana, Steve understands that there is no way he can get out now.

[] [] []

Thanksgiving.

A time for family.

A time for meeting family.

A time for Diana to introduce Steve to her mother, according to Antiope.

Neither Diana nor Steve were ready for Steve to meet Hippolyta.

That Antiope hatched this scheme and then foisted it on them stings of betrayal.

Sitting in shotgun of Menalippe’s truck, Diana fidgets. Menalippe is, of course, driving and Steve has been stuffed in the fold-out backseat. Ever a gentleman, he volunteered. Diana was also going to cram into the back with him, for reasons, until Menalippe pointed out that the entire point of Steve offering to sit in the back was so that Diana wouldn’t have to.

Aunt Antiope’s girlfriend is surprisingly… _normal_ , right down to driving exactly five miles per hour over the speed limit at all times.

It’s strange. Diana only met Antiope’s last girlfriend once—and that was a long time ago—so she’s not sure what kind of woman Antiope would fall for, but she’d been half-expecting someone… more like Antiope. Not that Diana is complaining. She barely survives one Antiope as it is; there’s no telling what would happen were there two.

Given that Steve has been stuffed into the backseat for the duration of the drive down to the city, conversation in the vehicle is effectively limited to just Diana and Menalippe (who is also a professor, leaving Diana somewhat hesitant as to whether she ought to be ‘Menalippe’ or ‘Professor Mytena’).

What Diana _wants_ to say is something along the lines of, ‘ _If you break her heart, I will end you_ ,’ but that’s a good way to make an awkward drive even more awkward and Steve, while not participating in the conversation, is still present. Diana settles for, “So you thought Antiope was my mother?”

Menalippe snorts. “I did,” she says. “I thought she wasn’t going to hit on me because she was married. Wrong on both counts.”

“Do you get that from customers often?” Diana asks. She already knows the answer is yes, but she’s trying to keep the conversation alive.

In Diana’s pocket, her phone buzzes. She would bet money that it’s Antiope, so she ignores it.

“On occasion,” Menalippe says. “Antiope was so polite about it I wasn’t sure what was going on until after though.” There’s a warmth in her voice and as she drives she’s smiling.

Diana’s phone buzzes again.

This time, what Diana wants to say is, ‘ _’Antiope’ and ‘polite’ don’t normally go in the same sentence_ ,’ but it would be poor form to take shots at her aunt to her aunt’s girlfriend, whom Diana rather likes. And it’s good that Aunt Antiope is seeing someone, finally. Diana is happy for her. Thus, instead, “Thank you for driving us down.”

And again, Diana’s phone buzzes.

“You’re welcome,” Menalippe says. “We were all going to the same place. This saves gas.”

Diana’s phone buzzes for a _fourth_ time, quickly followed by a fifth and a sixth. She finally fishes it out of her pocket and opens it. Predictably, all six messages are from Antiope.

‘ _Are you here yet?’_

_‘I need help with this turkey’_

_‘I dont know how to cook a turkey’_

_‘Please come soon’_

_‘Diana answer me’_

_‘DIANA’_

Diana sighs. It’s going to be a long day.

[] [] []

Steve doesn’t remember what he was expecting—Diana’s address had been given to Menalippe and he was never informed of where exactly in the city they were going. Whatever it was he had expected though, it’s not _this_. ‘ _This’_ starts out as a fancy apartment building in the city and quickly becomes a fancy apartment building in the city with its own parking garage and the nicest elevator he’s ever been in, an elevator that needs a _key_ to get to the floor button that Diana hits—but it’s not a floor button, it’s an elevator with a computer screen instead of buttons... It’s a very long elevator ride. He’s not normally a worried guy; he’s generally chill. Right now, there’s sweat prickling on the back of his neck.

“Menalippe, can you stand in front of us?” Diana asks.

Looking no more comfortable than Steve, Menalippe steps in front of them. “We’re not about to be greeted with a shotgun, are we?” she asks, clearly trying very hard to sound not concerned.

Diana’s long silence is the opposite of reassuring. “If there is a shotgun,” she starts, “It won’t be meant for you.”

Steve’s sweating increases. Diana’s point is a good one. Antiope is an adult. Menalippe has been invited to enjoy Thanksgiving. Steve has been invited for judgment.

Okay.

Okay, Steve.

Time to make a good impression.

You can do this.

Time to be an all-American cornfield.

Not literally.

Metaphorically.

There’s a difference between literally and metaphorically—you learned that in English 102, which you’re currently getting a B+ in and are likely to finish with a final grade of a B+ in. Above average grade for an above average guy. Above average guy. Who wouldn’t like their daughter dating an above average guy?

Just smile.

Above average smile.

You can do this.

The elevator dings and the doors slide open.

[] [] []

Waiting in Hippolyta’s foyer, Philippus surreptitiously wipes her sweaty palms on her jeans. Antiope and Hippolyta are currently arguing about where to put the meat thermometer in the turkey. Hippolyta wants to stick it in the meat of the turkey like a normal person. Antiope wants to insert it… elsewhere.

‘ _Like a thermometer!’_ Antiope had said as Philippus departed from the kitchen.

It was decided earlier that Philippus should answer the door for Diana, her boyfriend, and Antiope’s… friend (it’s not clear if this woman is Antiope’s girlfriend or just a friend—Antiope has been so busy between work and raising Diana for years and Hippolyta assured Philippus that this Menalippe person was almost certainly not a romantic anything, but Hippolyta was the woman who took six months to realize Philippus was flirting with her, bless her heart). In a feat of superhuman argumentation, Antiope managed to convince Hippolyta that it was inadvisable to start Thanksgiving off by intimidating Diana’s boyfriend. Antiope also reminded the group of them that Philippus needed to win Diana’s approval as much as Steve needed to win Hippolyta’s, and this is the reason that Philippus is wiping her palms off on her jeans _again_.

She’s got a feeling that Antiope has orchestrated Thanksgiving this year entirely for her own entertainment. Hippolyta, meet your daughter’s boyfriend. Diana, meet your mother’s girlfriend. I’m just going to sit here with _my_ girlfriend and laugh at you all.

It would be just like Antiope.

Philippus has met Diana only twice in passing. Both times, Hippolyta introduced her as a colleague, which Philippus long ago resolved not to read into.

The elevator dings.

Philippus takes a deep breath and tries to look warm and welcoming.

It’s not her forte.

But she tries, and it’s the thought that counts, right?

[] [] []

When the elevator door opens, Steve sees the most intimidating woman he has ever laid eyes on—which is saying quite a lot given that he’s standing behind Menalippe and Diana.

There’s a moment of silence. This woman is African-American and, as Diana and Antiope are both not African-American, Steve’s fairly certain this woman is not Hippolyta.

Menalippe extends a hand. “You must be Philippus,” she says. “I’m Menalippe.”

“I am,” the woman, Philippus, says as she shakes Menalippe’s hand. “A pleasure to meet you.”

Philippus turns to Diana. “Diana, it’s good to see you again.”

Diana has a Look on her face, as if she’s concentrating on trying to figure something out. Then, suddenly, “Are you dating my mother?”

[] [] []

In the kitchen, having finally won the argument about where to put the meat thermometer in the turkey, Hippolyta scowls at the cookbook, opened to the page on cranberry sauce. Over by the sink, Antiope is busy sulking over her defeat and playing with her phone.

The recipe _looks_ easy.

But is it easy enough to trust Antiope with it?

Hippolyta isn’t in a trusting mood today. The last thing she trusted Antiope with—obtaining this “Steve” character’s last name so Hippolyta could order a background check—was such a disaster Hippolyta wonders if Antiope didn’t sabotage the entire thing on purpose. Steve’s last name was not Pratt, it was not Evans, and it was not Hemsworth. Hippolyta is _still_ waiting to find out what it actually is.

After two months of bothering her sister about it, the only thing Hippolyta has gotten out of Antiope is that this “Steve” is “above average.”

Deciding that Antiope cannot be trusted with the cranberry sauce, Hippolyta heads to the refrigerator.

“Hippolyta, they’re here,” Antiope says as Hippolyta takes out their bag of cranberries.

Hippolyta replaces the cranberries on the shelf, closes the refrigerator door, and wipes her hands on her apron. Well then. It is time. It is time to go forth and put the fear of Hippolyta into this Steve person.

She is resolved: if he wants to date her daughter, he’s going to need to do a lot better than just “ _above average_.”

[] [] []

As Hippolyta sweeps out of the kitchen and heads towards the foyer, Antiope follows after her, grinning.

She’s about to see Menalippe again.

She’s also about to see _chaos_.

Antiope gives herself a mental pat on the back for a job well done.

It will be a wonderful Thanksgiving.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hoping to be back to posting more serious fic next weekend, unless real life happens. Wrote this yesterday when I realized I had nothing to post, hahah. Hope you enjoyed!
> 
> (it occurred to me while working on this chapter that in the movie antiope and menalippe basically replaced the bamf pair of philippus and artemis and as much as i love antiope and menalippe idk how i feel about that)


End file.
